


And every second I waste is more than I can take

by alexofmacedonia



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: POV Second Person, Suicide, i find i didn't hate it as much as i thought i would, this is my first time writing 2nd person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-31
Updated: 2016-01-31
Packaged: 2018-05-17 10:10:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5865238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexofmacedonia/pseuds/alexofmacedonia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Murphy did pull the trigger, but there were no bullets?</p>
            </blockquote>





	And every second I waste is more than I can take

**Author's Note:**

> This doesn't have a happy ending, sorry folks. Unbeta'd, so any mistakes are mine. I just have a lot of thoughts like this right now, so it helped to write this.
> 
> Title is from 'Numb' by Linkin Park

Memories play in your head, over and over and over. It's been your only source of entertainment since you busted that stupid gigantic screen that kept playing the beginnings of the end of the world. You find that the memories are worse than watching the man create mankind's demise, because somehow fate decided that your family line would survive, that it would continue up in space, and eventually bring you back here, a century after everything should have ended. The other delinquents almost hung you for something you didn't do - you can't believe it's been three and a half months since then - but now that you've actually killed people - you're still alive. One could argue that you're even safe, trapped in this place with food and power and more alcohol than you could have dreamed of.

You laugh and shake your head. It's too bad that you don't have a way to break the screen in your mind, so you can make the memories of killing your former friends, of torture at the hands of grounders, of watching Finn murder half a village, of seeing people blow up and get eaten by a sea monster, _stop_.

Even as your hand reaches for the wine bottle that you know is empty, your eyes fall on the small metal revolver that you had left in the middle of the table after you found it. You smile and laugh again, though this time it's not an amused sound. Maybe you _can_ shatter the screen in your head.

You pick up the gun and unlock the safety. You remember clicking it on after you'd found it, thinking it would be bad if it randomly went off if you bumped it and it fell.

On the one hand, you can't believe you have really gotten to this point.

On the other hand... well, let's just say you're a little surprised you haven't gotten here sooner.

The gun is cold in your hand, a stark contrast to your overheated skin, from too many days without a shower, from too much _heat_ in this damn bunker, from too much wine flowing through your veins.

Raising the gun to your temple, you barely register that you're sobbing. "Okay," you mutter out loud, "this is it. This is it, this is it, this is -" You can't find it in you to apply pressure to the trigger.

What you _do_ apply pressure to is the safety lock, before tossing the gun back on the table and curling up in a ball under the thin blanket on the couch.

 

* * *

 

 

It's been two weeks, and you really wish you hadn't destroyed the screen. You would take watching that stupid man making that stupid android and watching him then kill himself over another second alone with your head.

Maybe that's why you ate more than you should have, drank more than you should have.

You don't care though. You're way past caring. Fuck the ground, fuck the Ark and the other hundred, fuck this bunker, and most especially, fuck Jaha.

You look into the camcorder that you found yesterday. "Eighty-six days. I'm on my last box of food so..." You laugh sardonically and look away for a moment. "Really never thought I'd miss the Ark this much. Anyway, Jaha if you're seeing this, then that would indeed mean you're _not_ dead, so _screw you_!"

Closing the recorder and dropping it, you reach for the gun once again. You've thought about doing this many times since the first time you almost pulled the trigger, but this is the first time you've actually touched it again.

You're crying again as you press the muzzle under your chin. Just a little pull, it'll all be over. Your inner monologue is laughing at you, that you're too weak to do it, but you close your eyes and take a deep breath and _pull_ \--

The revolver clicks, but you're still here. You open your eyes, just to be sure, and you're still in the godforsaken plush prison you've been in for three months. You pull again, and again, and again. Nothing happens. "No!" you scream, and chuck the revolver at the broken screen on the wall, shattering it even further.

You laugh maniacally. Of _course_ this would happen to you. Of _course_ you can't have an easy way out.

There's a sudden, loud noise behind you. "No way," you whisper as you turn toward the doors. The doors that have been sealed shut for eighty-six days and almost made this your tomb.

Scrambling up the stairs, you push on the doors, half-expecting it to have been a hallucination - you know you aren't quite sane right now. But they open, and you suck in your first breath of fresh air in months. With a laugh, you run back toward the shore. You're weak, but you think that you can find some berries and shit to take with you in the boat. If you can find your way back across the dead zone, back to the Ark, you're sure that they'll take you in, and maybe you can just survive and be left alone for the rest of your life. You'll never say it to their faces that you missed them, but you'll show it through being a hard worker, no matter what job they give you.

A whirring sound catches your attention and you look up. It's one of those motorized flying things that Jaha thought would lead you to the City of Light. So far though, you remember that it has only led you to the deaths of the last of your group besides you and Jaha, three months of prison, and no knowledge of Jaha's fate. Knowing that crazy old man, though, you know, deep down, that he found what he was looking for, and will probably bring it back to the Ark. That he'll infect everyone else with his insanity.

"Screw this," you say. As long as shit like this is still around, you know you'll never actually find peace and quiet on the ground.

The water is cold, but instead of hopping in the little boat, you walk right past it and keep wading into deeper water. Soon your feet are barely touching the ground, and your head is barely above the water. _It's now or never_ , you think, and you take a few more steps, trying to keep your feet on the soil even as your head goes under and you can no longer see, can no longer breathe.

Your body is working against your will, as it fights to hold its breath and to float to the surface. Counting to three, you consciously force your mouth open and take a deep breath of water. It fills your lungs, and you're choking; your body fights to try to expel hydrogen monoxide, fighting to find oxygen, but you refuse to let your base survival instincts win just this one time.

You suck in another breath of water, and close your eyes. You hear a disembodied voice say, "Too many people," and your last thoughts are, _That's right. Too many people. Here's one less fo_ \--

**Author's Note:**

> come find me on tumblr - bibecamitchell


End file.
